Taken
by HopeCoppice
Summary: Everything Bertrand holds dear is ripped away. The forecast? Evil, with a strong chance of heavy showers. Implied femslash, eventual slash, some violence. Blaming redrachxo for the whole sorry affair.


**I don't even know what happened here, blame redrachxo and her wicked prompts of wickedness. Written in about 3 and a half hours, starting just after midnight, so that's why it's awful. Morning Red, here's your fic. I hope someone enjoys it!**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, except the lamentable attempt at a plot.**

Bertrand had waited his turn as usual. The Count got to shower first, then Vlad always stepped aside to let Ingrid storm in and take over the bathroom. He also stood aside for Erin, and then as she emerged Bertrand would appear to warn him that he was about to be late for class, so the Chosen One had to take his turn.

Once the Dracula part of the school was quiet, and only when everyone above him in the pecking order had got ready for the day and disappeared, Bertrand would step into the bathroom and close the door. By then, of course, there was no hot water to be had, not for blood nor money, but that didn't bother Bertrand. It was still something of a novelty for him to have clean water on tap, so the temperature was largely irrelevant in his mind.

Yes, he had waited his turn as usual, despite it being Saturday and the younger members of the household having therefore taken their time. All he wanted in return was to be left in peace. So why were there people talking outside the door? There were miles of empty corridors; why pick the one outside the bathroom for any conversation that had to be held so early in the morning?

He stepped into the spray and began to wash, the sting of the cold spray hitting him and waking him up a little. He could feel his senses becoming more alert, all the grime of the training room floor flowing away, although he knew he would only be rolling on it again later. Physical training with Vlad had recently become a much more balanced fight and soon, he was sure, Vlad wouldn't even have to _try_ to knock him flat on his back. He closed his eyes, leaning into the water, and let all thoughts of training, of the Chosen One, of _everything_ drain away.

It wasn't until he turned the shower off and reached for his towel that he returned to full awareness of his surroundings. There were still voices outside the door, he noticed irritably as he dressed.  
"Well, someone should tell him. He'll be devastated. He's supposed to go with him. Like I was meant to, when you were going."  
"He'll be _furious_, Erin. If you want to bring that on yourself, be my guest, but there's no way I'm telling Bertrand-"  
"He's his bodyguard, even if there was nothing else going on, and you _know_ there has to be something. He deserves to know-" Bertrand pulled the door open, still fastening the button of one of his cuffs.  
"I deserve to know _what_, exactly?"

He stood like a stone as Erin, Ingrid's hand protectively on her shoulder, stammered through an explanation.  
"Vlad's gone to Transylvania. The Count's idea, of course. Renfield took him in the hearse the moment-" Ingrid's grip tightened on Erin's shoulder, urging silence, but Bertrand didn't need to hear the words to know how the sentence ended.  
"The moment I was out of the way." The girls nodded silently. "Did you know this was going to happen?" Ingrid raised an eyebrow, obviously about to deny everything, but Erin's panic-stricken glance to see if the older Dracula was going to admit to the knowledge gave them both away. Bertrand's face darkened. "When is he coming back?" A slight softening of Erin's expression told him all he needed to know; Vlad would never be allowed to return to him.

The sudden appearance of Bertrand's fangs startled them both, though Ingrid tried not to show it.  
"Get out of my way!" When they didn't move, he lunged at Erin, forcing Ingrid to pull her along the corridor at speed.  
"You touch her, and I'll-"  
"And what? You'll take everything I have? It's too late for that, _Dracula._" He snarled, advancing on the pair. "Maybe I should even the score. Take your little breather snack." Ingrid's arms tightened around the slayer, her own fangs bared in a show of defiance.  
"We didn't send him away, Bertrand. Dad did that all by himself." He hesitated for a moment, then shoved roughly past them, very nearly throwing Ingrid into a patch of sunlight. Indeed, if it hadn't been for Erin landing across her legs, she would certainly have been burned. He didn't stop to observe the destruction as he continued angrily downstairs.

* * *

It took him several hours to track down the Count, but it had only taken him a couple to realise that even if he couldn't find the cowardly bat himself, he could drain his Blood Cellar dry on the way. He'd ignored the alcoholic blood, the Bar Fly and the Drunken Hobo, and gone for a nice vintage Principessa. Then he'd taken another bottle at random, smashing it to the ground. It was a terrible waste, but the Count's distress at finding his cellar smashed up would be nothing compared to the terror, pain and misery he felt when Bertrand finally caught up with him.

In the end, searching classroom after classroom began to feel pointless. He simply returned to the training room, positioning himself in the darkness of the doorway, where he could see the entrance to the Blood Cellar. Bertrand du Fortunesa was nothing if not cunning and patient. It took a few hours, but his stillness and silence paid off.

The Count made his way cautiously down the stairs towards the Cellar, obviously wary of the threat his son's tutor posed. _Not wary enough._ It was the work of seconds to leap from his hiding place and drag the Count back into his lair, hand over his mouth so he couldn't even call for help. Bertrand didn't particularly care if they were interrupted, but it would be cleaner if it was just the two of them. He intended to have a little sport at his host's expense, and witnesses would just mean that he had to rush things. He didn't want to do that.

With the door locked behind him and the key tucked safely inside his jacket, Bertrand let go of his captive.  
"Bertrand, what on earth do you think you're _doing_?" The Count was indignant. Bertrand didn't flinch. "I could have you staked for treason; I'm the Regent, for blood's sake." That, at least, got a reaction; a twisted smirk graced Bertrand's face, the same handsome face many a hapless artist had literally died to paint, centuries ago.  
"You sent Vlad to take his place at the Council; your powers as Regent ended the moment he set out on that journey." He sneered. "Don't play at law with me, Dracula. You'll lose." The Count looked mildly taken aback; Bertrand suspected that he hadn't known that little titbit about the Regency, or if he had, he certainly hadn't been expecting Bertrand to know and exploit it.  
"What are you going to do?" The tutor – former tutor, he supposed, in the absence of Vlad – held his fangs back with difficulty, aware that his apparent indifference was more intimidating than any gleaming shard of enamel could be.  
"I'm going to teach you how foolish you've been." He hadn't restrained his adversary; he didn't need to. In the end, it didn't even matter if he survived this confrontation, as long as the Count crumbled first. "After all, that was my job before you ripped it away from me."

"He would always have had to leave." The Count was trying to reason with him now, watching Bertrand's measured circular pacing around him with wary eyes. "You must know that."  
"I should have been sent with him!" The younger vampire bit off the remark and spat it at his enemy as if it was a weapon in itself. "I'm his tutor, his bodyguard. His valet-"  
"And you would be his lover!" The Count's tone made it clear exactly what he thought of that idea. "I think not. No, you will never see my son again, is that clear?" Bertrand's eyes flashed dangerously for a second, but then he stepped backwards, bowing his head meekly.  
"Crystal." The Count relaxed slightly, waiting for the repentant tutor to unlock the door. Then Bertrand's head snapped up. "But neither will you."

The slayers, Bertrand thought to himself as his instincts hummed about the fading light outside, needed to upgrade their weaponry. The tiny canister of garlic spray he'd found in Erin's old kit – left carelessly where he'd found it all those months ago, completely unprotected while the two girls cowered in Wolfie's room, ostensibly protecting the boy – had barely left a mark on the Count despite his careful and thorough application. He hadn't been expecting it to reduce him to dust – there was no sense in ending the fun so soon – but he had hoped for something a little more _dramatic_. He'd fallen to the floor, hissing in pain, but it didn't seem that there would be any permanent damage. Still, Bertrand kept garlic of his own in the room, for training purposes. He'd only used it to train himself, never Vlad – he would never risk Vlad with such a danger just for training.

His own self-improvement, however, had led him to the point where now, he could clutch the bulb of garlic between two fingers and, by quickly shifting it between his digits, hold onto it for long enough to drag it painfully across the Count's skin. Weakened by the garlic spray, there wasn't much his adversary could do to get away – little more than watch, in fact, as the bulb of garlic trailed down from just in front of his ear and down his neck. The stinging in his fingers was becoming unbearable and Bertrand briefly considered just forcing the disgusting article down the Count's throat – but then there was a bang at the door. He faltered for barely an instant; Ingrid would not convince him to spare her father, and Erin was more likely to slay him than anything else. He could deal with them later, if he needed to. He raised the garlic again, intending to match his earlier movement across the other side of the Count's face.

The door crashed off of its hinges and fell to the floor with a deafening thud.

* * *

Vladimir Dracula stood in the doorway, still wearing his flying cape, eyes black, fangs out, face like thunder. His gaze rested on Bertrand's face for barely a moment before sweeping down to take in his father's sprawled position on the floor.  
"Dad. How lovely of you to arrange a surprise trip for me earlier. Looks like you've already been thanked for it, though. Erin!" The slayer appeared in the doorway, looking anxious. "Take Dad to his coffin, will you? And make sure he stays in it." He spoke without a hint of humour in his voice and Erin scurried to obey his commands. Ingrid helped her through the doorway, careful not to make contact with the garlic burns on her father's skin. That left Bertrand to face the wrath of the Chosen One alone.

"Bertrand. Want to tell me what the flap that was about?" His tutor was just staring at him in shock. It took a few seconds for the words to force themselves out.  
"They told me you were gone, you couldn't come back." He let out a choking sound and frowned. "They said I'd never see you again." Vlad shook his head with a mirthless snort of laughter.  
"As if they could hold me against my will. The moment it got dark I escaped. Renfield's still in Germany somewhere." He peered carefully at Bertrand's face for a moment. "Are you al-?"

"You came back," Bertrand interrupted before he could say _insane_, or worse, _in love with me_, because right now he didn't know the answer to either of those questions. "Why?" He was burning to know; he could literally feel the heat and the pain of the need to understand eating away at him. Then Vlad's eyebrows shot towards his hairline and he lurched forwards.  
"Bertrand, open your hands." It was an order, and Bertrand obeyed, the garlic bulb he'd been crushing in his fist falling to the floor. He flinched, realising what it was. Suddenly the burning sensation made sense.

Vlad would slay him now, he was sure, now that he had been caught literally red-handed, clutching the weapon he'd used on the Chosen One's father. Instead, the younger vampire reached out and wrapped his fingers around Bertrand's wrist, speeding with him up to the bathroom and locking the door.  
"Shoes and shirt off." He clumsily obeyed, wondering if this was just some way of adding humiliation to his punishment, hissing as the traces of garlic still on his hands touched his skin. He'd been caught in the garlic spray earlier, too, and now he was suddenly all too aware of the myriad pinpricks of pain stinging all over his neck, chest, arms and face. Eventually, he managed to shake himself free of the shirt, Vlad pulling at the sleeves to encourage him, and stood awaiting his fate.

The Chosen One regarded him thoughtfully.  
"How much do you like those trousers?" Bertrand blinked at him, confusion clear on his face, and Vlad rolled his eyes, stripping off his own shirt and cape as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Never mind. Come here." He placed his hands carefully on Bertrand's sides, ignoring the sting of the garlic against his own skin, and guided him to stand under the shower. He flicked a switch, cold water splashing down on them both, and reached out for a flannel.

The Chosen One stood behind his tutor as the older vampire turned his face upwards, letting the garlic rinse away from his face. Carefully he brought the flannel up and began to dab at Bertrand's neck, clearing away the poison that was burning his skin. Gradually, the tension in the tutor's back began to ease as Vlad swept the flannel over his muscular arms and chest, arms wrapped around the other man from behind, his head resting against his tutor's shoulderblade to show he wasn't angry.

Eventually, Bertrand spoke over the noise of the rushing water.  
"Why are you doing this?" Vlad shrugged, moving to stand in front of him, water running down into his eyes.  
"The same reason I came straight back." Bertrand blinked at him; that wasn't an answer. "What you did to Dad… it was a bit harsh." The older man hung his head.  
"He risked your safety. He took you away. I was angry." Vlad sighed.  
"Well, I can see why everyone's terrified of you." There was an uncomfortable pause, and then he continued. "I need you with me, when I go to Transylvania." Bertrand nodded; he would go, of course – should always have gone. He was Vlad's bodyguard.  
"I understand. Of course I'll-"  
"No, Bertrand, you don't. I need- like Ingrid needs- I need you- oh, _bats_." He reached up, pushed a stray, wet curl away from Bertrand's face, and kissed him. When he pulled back, blinking the water from his eyes, Bertrand didn't move for a few seconds and it was obvious that Vlad thought he'd made a serious miscalculation.  
"_Oh_," his tutor said at last. "Oh, thank-" Then he switched off the water and pulled Vlad back towards him.


End file.
